


The Dragonborn's Guide to Skyrim

by Elchen_Warmage



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Modern Character in Skyrim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 13:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elchen_Warmage/pseuds/Elchen_Warmage
Summary: Grusha was not having a good week. She had to flee her stronghold because her father wanted to marry her off to someone almost as old as him. Then she ended up being caught in that Imperial ambush. Now the world is burning around her. At least the scholar down in the dungeons seems to know what is going on.-----





	The Dragonborn's Guide to Skyrim

**Author's Note:**

> An opening chapter for a Skyrim self insert I want to write. updates will be erratic as I plan to finish my other story, Commander Spectre, first.

Grusha leant against the wall beside the door that had just been slammed shut and took a deep breath. Today was not a good day she mused. Or rather the entire week hadn’t gone well.

It had all started when her father in his wisdom had deemed it time for her to be married. She had stared at him and the orc he had chosen to be her husband. He was almost as old as her father and the thought of being with him made her insides curdle. Her expression turned into a scowl as he described what her role would be. She would be reduced to a hearth mother. She wanted to see the world, not be shackled to one place.

Her entire world had consisted of the stronghold and the surrounding area. Ever since she was small she had imagined what lay beyond. She had trained and learnt all that she would need to survive in the world and now her father was just marrying her off to another chieftain, just to secure an alliance.

She summoned a false smile and went to pack her bag like a dutiful daughter. In the privacy of her sleeping area, she growled through her teeth in frustration. She wasn’t going to be chained down. She had dreams and nothing was going to stop her. From beneath her bed she pulled a polished set of steel armour.

She had made the set herself and she was proud of her handiwork. She slipped the armour on and grabbed her axes and bow. What little other possessions she had went into a sack and then she slipped out through a hole in the back of the longhouse.

Quietly she crept around. Everyone was out in front, waiting for her to come out. The guard patrolling the length of the back wall kept his face outward and took forever to turn, giving Grusha plenty of time to clamber over the wall and disappear into the brush.

She had no goal in mind so simply set out northward. She believed Skyrim was in that direction. Maybe the vast snow-clad plains and mountains would give her the adventure she sought.

Her journey north did go even remotely as smoothly as she had hoped. Her father and her chosen husband had taken offence to her sudden departure and taken off after her. Day by day she had dodged their pursuit. On a few occasions he had come close to catching her. Onward she pushed, choosing the roughest terrain until finally she lost them on the snow-clad slopes of the mountains.

Her first view of Skyrim looked beautiful to her. She was freezing and low on food, but she had made it. Skyrim was freedom and a new life. The snow began to thin the lower down the mountain she went. Warmth returned to her bones and then she walked straight into the imperial ambush.

She hadn’t even seen it coming, only learning about when she awoke in a cart, hands bound and stripped to her underclothes. She had no idea who this Ulfric fellow was, but the way the horse thief paled at the name and the mention of Sovngarde filled her with dread.

Her heart fell in her chest as she watched Lokir get impaled with arrows. Malacath save her, she was going to die barely a week into her new life. The first Nord strode forward and stood stern-faced over the chopping block. She had to bite back the bile that rose in her throat. It wasn’t the death that got to her, she had been in a few fights against bandits, it was the way that imperials were just executing them. They would rather kill her than bother finding out who she was. Only that one soldier had bothered, and even he hadn’t tried too hard.

Now it was her turn. When she hesitated to move, a soldier shoved her forwards. She kneeled before the block, terror filling her veins. Vaguely she heard a roar in the distance. She wasn’t the only, several soldiers heard as well. But General Tuluis told them to ignore it.

She couldn’t die like this. If she did, she would be excluded from Malacath’s realm. Her eyes went wide as she witnessed a massive black form land atop the nearby tower. No one else seemed to see it. She wanted to cry out but stopped herself. What did these people deserve? If this black thing was a danger, then it would hopefully kill them all and in some small way her death would be avenged.

Massive wings spread out from the black object atop the tower, blacking out the sun. Everyone noticed it when it roared, the ground shaking. Then flaming rocks began to fall from the sky. Screams and pandemonium broke out. She lay dazed on the headsman’s block until someone grabbed her and dragged her away.

Broken from her daze she picked herself up and followed the man. She recognized him as the one asking her questions during the cart trip. She ran after him, dodging flaming debris that landed all around them. They reached a tower that looked mainly intact, for now.

Upon entering the tower, the door was slammed shut behind them. She saw Ulfric and a number of his men. She believed Lokir had called them Stormcloaks. They must be the other side in the civil war in Skyrim she had heard about.

“What was that?” a Stormcloak asked, his voice shaking.   
“A dragon,” Ulfric said calmly, holding out his hands for the bindings to be cut. Once they were cut, the soldier with the knife moved on to Grusha and the Stormcloak she had followed.   
“But dragons are merely legend,” the first Stormcloak protested.   
“Legends do not burn down cities,” was the calm reply.

From there on it was a blur. Grusha wasn’t sure how she had made it to the keep. All she could remember the roar of flames, interspaced with the screams of dying people. She tried not to think of the people stuck in their homes, burning to death.

Now she leant against a cold stone wall taking deep breathes. The Stormcloak who had helped her, the imperial had called him Rolaf, was praying over the body of a fallen comrade. The left side of his chest looked like it had been caved in, likely by one of the many falling rocks. She took a moment to look at the two Stormcloaks and then down at herself. Why was it that her armour had been removed, but the Stormcloaks got to keep theirs. She had worked hard at that armour and they had simply taken it from her.

“I hear someone coming,” Rolaf said. Grusha perked her ears and heard several heavy feet heading their way. She heard the clink of weapons. “Imperials,” Rolaf muttered. Turning toward her he added, “They are not going let us just leave here.”   
“I don’t have any weapons and neither do you,” she pointed out. She feared that despite the last-minute rescue from death, she might still die that day.

Rolaf took the belt from his fallen comrade and motioned for Grusha to stand next to the gate that was between them and the approaching soldiers. “We need to take them by surprise. There’s a good chance we’ll fail, but I won’t go down without a fight.” She nodded to indicate that she understood and went to stand on the opposite side of the gate.

The gate opened and an Imperial captain charged through, her sword drawn. Rolaf lashed out with the belt, the buckle catching her on her sword hand, knocking it away. The blade skittered across the floor to land at Grusha’s feet. Rolaf gave a loud yell and leapt at the captain.

Sweeping the blade up, Grusha went after the two legionnaires behind the captain. All her rage at being almost unfairly executed boiled up and she yelled at them with a bloodcurdling yell. Her blade clashed against theirs with such force that the first one was knocked backwards. The second one successfully parried her attack and made a lunge at her.

She didn’t care about the danger to herself, simply grabbing the blade with her left hand and yanking it from his hand. Defenceless, he could only gurgle as she stabbed her blade into his neck, just above where the armour ended. His comrade had recovered and swung at her back. She saw the movement out the corner of her eye and dropped into a roll, avoiding his attack. She turned to face him and snarled loudly, her long tusks glinting in the torchlight. He flinched briefly and she used the opening to swing her sword at his neck. It bit into the flesh, stopping when it hit his spine. Growling with frustration, she yanked it out and swung again, this time cleaving his head from his shoulders.

Her two opponents down, she looked over to where Rolaf was fighting with the captain. Her helmet was knocked off and Rolaf had the belt wrapped around her neck. Her thrashing slowed until eventually it stopped. Rolaf pushed the limp body off himself and picked up a sword. he wanted to stab her in the chest but instead had to settle for the spot between her eyes.

“You did well,” he complimented Grusha. He noticed the blood seeping from the wound on her hand. “You’re hurt.”   
She looked down at her hand. The pain crept into her hand, a sharp stinging burn. “I didn’t see that.”

She looked down at her dirty and torn underclothes. She went to tear a strip off, but Rolaf stopped her. “Keep your clothes. Put pressure on the wound, I’ll find something to use.” Grusha clasped her hands together in an effort to staunch the flow of blood while Rolaf went over to the captain. He picked up a discarded sword and set about cutting her armour off. After the armour was removed, he tore her undershirt into strips.

Picking the strips up, he brought them over to Grusha. She held out her left hand and he placed a folded strip over her wound. Her fingers had avoided being cut, but her thumb felt sliced to the bone. Instead of wrapping the thumb on its own, Rolaf placed it so that it was against the piece on her palm and then wrapped everything.

Grusha held up her left hand and looked at her four fingers. The hand was useless to her. Rolaf seemed to sense her sadness. “It’s on temporary until we find a healing potion.”   
That made her feel a bit better, “Thanks.” The pain was still terrible, but hopefully the bleeding would stop and she would somehow escape this hellish situation.

Rolaf stripped a sword belt from one of the solders and strapped it one. “You need armour. Which one do you think will fit you, then I’ll help you put it on.”   
she looked at the three imperials. The men where to scrawny and the straps on the female's armour were cut. Not that the plate armour would have fitted her bulky frame. The Nord was bigger and better built, but his armour was still too small to fit her. “They’re all too small.”   
“Surely, there must be something we can do to make one fit?” Rolaf went over to his fallen comrade and tugged at his armour.

The stones above them groaned and a rain of small stones fell down around them. “We need to keep moving,” Grusha said. She picked a sword up again and motioned to a doorway on the far side of the room. “Armour is useless if we get crushed under falling rocks.” Rolaf nodded and followed after her.

The passageway spiralled downward into the ground. They passed a few doors on their downward descent but didn’t go in. The world was coming down around them and Grusha did not want to die. Eventually the descent stopped and levelled out in a long passageway. Or she thought it might be long because the ceiling had collapsed, blocking the way forward.

“What now?” she growled. The way forward was blocked and behind them was a dragon bringing the sky down.   
“There has to be some way around it,” Rolaf said. He went to the single door that could be seen and opened it. “Maybe it’s a room that goes around the blockage?” One could only hope so.

“Hey, what’s going on?” someone shouted from within the room. “Look, a Stormcloak, we are under attack.” Grusha and Rolaf entered the room to be confronted by two imperial soldiers. They tightened their grip on the swords and met the charging soldiers. The two were clearly inexperienced because they soon fell before the two escaped prisoners.

The room they found themselves in appeared to an eating area combined with a kitchen. Food on the table seemed indicate that they had interrupted a meal. Rolaf ran to the far side of the room and shouted back, “There’s a door here.” Grusha grabbed a loaf of bread and ran to catch up with him. She tore it in half and gave him a piece. “Thanks,” he accepted the piece.

The passage eventually started to go down again. They could no longer hear the destruction coming from above. Down the stairs they wound. From ahead, the sound of someone screaming rose up through the tunnel. “Sounds like the torturer is at work,” Rolaf spat. Grusha tightened the grip on her sword.

Rolaf lead the way and charged into the torture room. The torturer and his assistant had a man strung up by his hand and were cutting pieces from his side. The assistant was closest to the stairs and only had time to turn around in surprise before Rolaf ran him through. The torturer himself wasn’t as easy to kill. He had time to react and blasted a fireball their way, forcing them to retreat. “Hey, Asshole,” someone shouted from the side of the room, “just give up already. She’s going to tear you a new one.” “If she doesn’t then the world is doomed,” Grusha could hear them mutter afterwards.

The torturer ignored the taunt and proceeded to blast fireballs at them, keeping them at bay. Something smashed into the torturers head, momentarily stunning him. Grusha and Rolaf seized the opportunity to close the gap. The torturer focused on Grusha, deciding that the bigger target was the greater threat. One fireball came so close to her face that she was certain that the hair on that side of her face was singed away.

The torturer lay dead on the ground. The prisoner that had been strung up by his hands was dead. A stray fireball had burnt his face up. “Hey,” came the voice again, “can you please let me out. I have no desire to die down here.” Grusha walked over to the row of cages. The first was empty, the second contained the corpse of a mage and the third had the owner of the voice.

The man was about the same height as Rolaf and the imperials. He had a chestnut red beard and a smoothly shaven scalp. His skin was pale like a Nords, but his accent sounded more like that of an imperial. He wore a long cloth jerkin that hung almost to his feet. His one foot was missing a shoe. She looked behind her toward the torturer and saw the other one lying there.

“Hey,” he softly said, “can you let me out please?” he gripped the bars and she could make out his hand shaking violently. “Please?” he asked again.   
She frowned at the padlock on the cage. “How do I open it?”   
A look of relief appeared on his face. “Behind you in that caged off area. At least that’s where I saw them put it.”   
“Found it,” Rolaf called out and tossed her the bunch of keys. “There’s some other stuff here as well.”

The ring contained only three keys but of course it was the final key that opened the padlock on the cage. The stranger seemed to relax slightly when the gate was opened. Holding onto the gate, he steadied himself and then proceeded to hop over to Rolaf. “This is a strange boot.” Rolaf said, holding the oddly shaped boot.   
“Can I have my boot back please?” the stranger asked, not putting the unclad foot down. Rolaf wanted to ask more, but he relented and gave the boot back. “Thank-you,” came the quite reply.

Boots on both feet again, the stranger went into the caged area to retrieve something. He emerged with a flat broad-brimmed hat and a large brown canvas rucksack filled with a very large square object. He was still shaking. “You need a weapon,” Rolaf said, folding out a sword to him.   
“I can’t use a sword,” he said. “Besides, I’ll be completely useless unless I can find my glasses.”   
“What are glasses?” Grusha asked. She had been paying so much attention to how he was shaking that she hadn’t noticed how he was squinting and peering at everything around him.

“They’re little pieces of glass connected together with wire,” he explained. “Please, I need them,” he pleaded. “Without them I can’t see. I know he’s a Stormcloak because of the colour of his armour and I know you’re an orsimmer, but that’s all I can see.”   
Grusha didn’t have time for this, she needed to escape this place, not look after a half blind man. Rolaf just stood there and looked from one to the other.

Clearly sensing that he wasn’t going to get much help, the man started his search on his own. Be began with the rucksack on the table beside them. He pulled a spell tome out and held it up to his face. “Ah, Sparks, this will be useful.” He put the book to the side and continued to rummage around. A small pouch of septims followed the spell tome and several lockpicks.

“Found them!” he exclaimed. He triumphantly help up two pieces of glass connected with an almost impossibly thin piece of wire. The pieces of glass were placed in front of his eyes, the long pieces of wire on each side going over his ears. “I can finally see again.”

While the stranger was digging through the sack, Grusha went into the caged area. She wasn’t sure what she was going to find, but it proved to be fruitful, yielding an iron axe. Its quality was shoddy and the edge was barely passable.

She emerged from the caged area. “Can we go now?” she said, almost growling the words.   
“No need to tell me twice, I have no desire to be crushed under falling rocks or end up dragon chow.”   
“Weapon,” Rolaf repeated, holding out a sword.   
“I told, I don’t know how to use a sword.”   
“Then what can you use?”   
“A bow?” he answered, hesitantly. Rolaf frowned at him. “Look, I’m a scholar. I was minding my damn business until the damn imperials didn’t like how close I was to Helgen.”

There was a weapon rack against the one wall with a bow and several arrows. Grusha grabbed them and handed them to him. “Here, we really need to get going before Imperials end up coming down here.”   
He jumped a bit when she shoved the weapon at him. “Thanks.” He started shaking even more violently. Grusha relented a bit, he was clearly terrified.

“Wait,” he said, holding up a book, the spell tome and the pouch of septims. “I need to pack this stuff away.”   
“Make it quick,” Grusha said. “We need to go.” A small part of her was interested in what he had in his rucksack, but he put the two books in a side pouch.

“There, I’m ready. Let’s blow this joint.” Grusha and Rolaf stared at him. What had he just said? “It means let’s leave this place,” he explained, seeing their confusion.   
“Then why didn’t just so?” Rolaf asked.

Grush and Rolaf headed deeper but the stranger went in the opposite direction. “Where are you going?” Grusha asked. “There is a dragon that way.”   
“Yes,” he admitted, “but there are also some potions back there. Most importantly a healing potion. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the blood on your hand. Plus we might need them for the spiders.” Spiders? What spiders? “I won’t be long. In the meantime could you open that cage and get the mage’s robes for me please.” The man went to the stairs leading back into the keep. He took a deep breath and ran up the stairs.

Grusha had had enough, they needed to leave now. She motioned to the far entrance and Rolaf nodded his head in agreement. The two made their way deeper into the tunnels. They passed the prison cells and fortunately there wasn’t anyone else in them.

After the prison cells came an open cave with a cistern that flowed out through a grate. Grusha gagged a little at the smell. The keep’s waste had to be dumped here. Rolaf looked away from the grate, “Well we’re not getting out through there.”   
“Did you really want to go in that water?” Grusha asked.   
“No, not really.”   
“Come on. There must be another way out. Malacath saved me. There has to be a reason.”

There was a tunnel on the far side of the cavern. The path forward was blocked by a wooden drawbridge. Fortunately the lever was on their side. Even here, deep beneath the earth, the found the ground shake and rocks come tumbling down. Right behind them, destroying the drawbridge. “Well I guess we won’t be going back that way.”

After the drawbridge, the keep ended and entered natural caves. A brazier stood lit beside the exit. “I would almost expect a guard here,” Rolaf said. He stooped down to pick up a torch. The two off them set off down the tunnels, both of them alert for any danger. Rolaf was right, there should been a guard. So unless Tulius was about to let a back door into the Helgen keep stay unguarded, there had to be at least one Imperial guard in these dark tunnels.

A stream flowed down through a grate in the wall. A few bars had been damaged and lay askance. “Follow the stream?” Rolaf asked.   
Grusha nodded, “Not like there is anywhere else we can go.”

A banging noise stopped them. Grusha turned around. Rolaf held his torch high to illuminate the area behind them. The stranger was squeezing himself through the space between the damaged bars blocking the stream. “I thought I asked you to wait for me,” he gasped out. Eventually, through, he came over to them. “And I asked you to get the robes off the mage.”

“You were slowing us down, we needed to leave this place. It’s on your head if you want to go back into a crumbling keep.”   
“I was getting this for you,” he said, holding out a small vial with a deep red liquid. Grusha hesitated. “It’s a healing potion, for your hand,” he explained.

She took the potion and drank the foul-tasting liquid. Her hand tingled and then itched like crazy. The stranger had a small dagger in his hand. He motioned for her to give him her. He quickly cut the bindings and peeled them away to reveal her hand. The deep cuts had been reduced to narrow scabbed wounds. He rubbed the scabs to reveal new skin, albeit scarred skin.

“Interesting,” he said, “the potion heals, but still leaves a scar. I wonder,” he muttered, half lost in thought.   
“Thank you,” Grusha said, she felt slightly ashamed for just leaving the man. He had gone back into a dangerous situation to get something to help her. He didn’t even know who she was.

“Look, I get it,” he said, nervously rubbing his hands. “You just want to get out of here and I’m no good in a fight. But I can help. I know the magical properties of most of Skyrim’s fauna and flora. I know the way from every hidden corner.”   
“Who said I need help?” Grusha asked. her voice was a bit harsher than she had meant it to be.   
“No one,” he said quietly. “Please let come with you. I’ll be dead within the day.”   
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Yes, you can come with us.”   
he breathed a deep sigh, “Thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“I’m Elchen,” he said.   
“Grusha, and that is Rolaf.”   
“Grusha. Nice name.”

He readied his bow and nocked an arrow. “First bit of help then, ready your weapons. We have spiders ahead.” The stream they were following disappeared into a narrow crack. Ahead, natural light seeped down into a small cavern. The light illuminated several plants and lots of white. Two imperial soldiers lay in the middle, partially wrapped up in the white stuff.

“Well, Rolaf, there’s your guards and what’s that white stuff?” Grusha asked.   
“Webbing. Frostbite spiders ahead. I am not looking forward to fighting them,” Elchen answered.   
“Have you ever fought in your life?”   
“I think I got into a fistfight once.”   
“Stay back and leave the fighting to us.”

They entered the cavern. The spiders announced the descent from the ceiling with a loud chittering. Fighting the spiders was certainly different from normal, normally she’d be wearing more than a few thin pieces of cloth and a much better weapon. At least she wasn’t alone, Rolaf fought well and knew how to fight at a time. She counted four or five spiders when they dropped from the ceiling.

The spiders spat their venom. Rolaf’s armour protected him, however, Grusha’s clothing let the venom soak right through. Where the venom landed it felt like icicles being shoved into her flesh. A few arrows flew in the direction of the spiders, but they all missed.

Grusha dug her axe blade into the joint just behind the final spider’s head. Looks there had only been four spiders. A loud scream filled the air followed by the sound of lightning crackling. Elchen was standing before the fifth dead spider. His bow was on the ground beside him. A few stray sparks danced between his fingers.

“Sorry, the spider came out of nowhere. It caught me by surprise.”   
The scream had certainly not been something Grusha had expected from the bearded man. But she had more important things to focus on. “You said you couldn’t fight. But you killed that spider with magic.”   
“I didn’t mean to. I just reacted. I haven’t even read the tome on the sparks spell.”

Silence reigned over the group for a moment. Rolaf wasn’t too impressed about magic and Grusha had never actually met magic. Oh sure there had been mages amongst some bandits but she had never been near them when the fighting happened.

Sensing Rolaf’s distrust for magic, Grusha broke the silence. “We need to keep moving, we aren’t out of the cave yet and there might still be dangers lurking.”   
“Hopefully the bear is still asleep after I screamed,” Elchen muttered. ‘Wait,” he said as Grusha turned away from him. he held out another health potion to her, “Takes this. Frosbite spider venom cannot be good for you.” She hesitated. “Please.” Reluctantly she took it and downed the foul liquid again.

After the small cavern came another lager one. The stream re-emerged flowed across carven. Elchen cautiously stepped into the cave. “Tread softly. The bear is still asleep.” In the large patch of sun, shining into the cavern, lay a large brown bear. The two warriors followed Elchen as he moved across to the far side.

They passed a small cart with a skeleton next to it. He paused and bent down. “He must have come in here for shelter and been attacked by the bear.”   
“Why are we stopping?” Grusha hissed.   
Elchen fished around in the cart and help up several bottles. “Black Briar mead. I hear this stuff is pretty good.”   
“How did you know it was there?” First the spiders, then the bear and finally the mead. This strange man knew weird things. Oh and despite being locked up underground he had known about the dragon attack. The other inhabitants of the torture room hadn’t known.   
“Lucky guess,” he shrugged. “We really should keep moving, that bear is really making me nervous.

Once they were sufficiently past the bear, Elchen broke into a sprint. Grusha and Rolaf took off after him. The tunnel twisted a few times and finally opened up into the open sky. All three of them breathed in deeply, glad to be out of the cave. They heard the roar of the dragon and all ducked down. A shadow passed over them and they watched as the great big black dragon flew off into the distance. Rolaf and Grusha could only imagine the destruction that it had left behind.

“There goes Alduin, harbinger of the end times.”


End file.
